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T.S.DENISON & COMPANY, Publishers,154 W.Randolph St., Chicago 



THE WINNING WIDOW 

A PARLOR COMEDY 

IN TWO ACTS 



BY 

EDITH F. A. U. PAINTON 

■■ 

AUTHOR OF 

1 ' A Prairie Rose , " iK A Burns Rebellio?i , " " As A Woman Thinketh , ' ' 

"The Class Skip," "The Graduate's Choice " "Hypnotizing 

a Hypnotist, " ' * The Laughing Cure, " " Clubbing a 

Husband, ' ' ' ' Wanted: a Cook, " ' ' 7#<? £bw- 

mencement Manual" Etc. 




CHICAGO 

T. S. DENISON & COMPANY 

Publishers 



*' PS353J 
THE WINNING WIDOW 



CHARACTERS. 

As originally produced by the graduating class of the 
Brownsville, Pennsylvania, High School, June 11, 1914. 

Reginald Wright, of the Philadelphia Wrights 

Howard Raymond Patterson 

Harry DeAne, of Boston, Cousin of Bess 

Jesse Coldren 

Mrs. Elizabeth Snowden, A Wealthy Widow 

Ann Snowdon Jacobs 

Margaret Snowden, her elder and dignified Daughter 

Kathryn Elizabeth De I^aney 

Kitty Snowden, her younger and mischievous Daughter 

Hazel Emmeline Ross 

Bess Warner, known as Bess Jones, the Maid 

Helen Rebecca Meese 



SYNOPSIS. 

Act I. Morning. Mrs. Snowden's Drawing Room. The 
Situation. 

Act II. Evening. Same Room. The Culmination. 



Time — The Present. 



Place — Any Large City. 



Time of Playing — About One and One-haliJHours 



d One-half M( 

.-■" 



COPYRIGHT, 1916, BY EBEN H. NOR: 

©CIO 4 520 

OCT 18 1916 



»0 Jk fs I 



THE WINNING WIDOW. 



STORY OF THE PLAY. 



Mrs. Elizabeth Snowden, a fair widow, with two grown 
daughters, living at ease upon a fortune recently restored 
to her at the death of a defrauding relative, poses as a 
man-hater, through an unhappy matrimonial experience, 
and represents herself as having but one aim in life — that 
of protecting her daughters against the fortune-hunting 
male. At the opening of the play, each of the girls secretly 
solicits the assistance of the maid, Bess — who has "seen 
better days" — in arranging a clandestine meeting with, two 
young men they have accidentally met the previous even- 
ing, each very anxious to keep the affair from the knowledge 
of the other, as well as of the mother. When the young 
men call, according to arrangement, they are entertained 
by the mother to the exclusion of both daughters, although 
one of them is surprised to discover in Bess, the maid, his 
long-sought cousin and former fiance. The young men's 
notes to the widow are delivered through the maid's mistake 
to the daughters, and the complications increase until a quar- 
rel between the two men leads to a revelation of the rela- 
tionship existing between the one and the maid. Through 
this the maid is discovered to be the former heiress of the 
property inherited by Mrs. Snowden, and legally entitled 
to half of the estate. To the chagrin of the elder daughter, 
the young man solicits the hand of Widow, and all agree 
to "live happy ever after." 



SYNOPSIS FOR PROGRAM. 

Act I — Kitty and Margaret take turns at confidences. 
Harry and Bess are mutually surprised. "I forbid you to 
know one thing!" Mrs. Snowden knows the Cuthbert 
Deanes and the Philadelphia Wrights, but Kitty and Mar- 
garet are left in the cold, as daughters who "do not like 
men." Bess receives a third confidence, but by her blunders 
in the delivery of her notes precipitates considerable mis- 



4 THE WINNING WIDOW. 

understanding on the part of all concerned. "What can 
she mean?" 

Act II — Kitty prepares for a call, but is forestalled by 
Margaret, who in turn gives place to the Widow, who 
plays a lone hand. Elizabeth is shocked and worried over 
unexpected developments in the conduct of her man-hating 
daughters, but is relieved, in spite of her chagrin, to learn 
that she herself was really the guilty one. Bess determines 
to make no more mistakes, but the girls are surprised by 
the coolness of their suitors. "Don't let Mamma see you!' , 
Harry and Reginald have an encounter, but Bess prevents 
too violent a climax and brings about a disclosure. "He 
is my cousin." "Have I not also found my wife?" Regi- 
nald follows suit by stating his claim and making a high 
bid for favor. "Mamma does not like men." The girls 
propose terms of surrender, and finally give their consent 
and blessing. "Come, my dear!" 



COSTUMES. 

Act I. Ladies wear elegant house dresses. Gentlemen, 
up-to-date business suits. 

Act II. Evening dress with the exception of Bess, who 
wears cap and apron throughout. 



PROPERTIES. 

Act I — Piano, stool, music, etc., for Kitty. Duster for 
Bess. Card for Harry. Card, books, watch, etc., for Regi- 
nald. Fan for Elizabeth. Letter for Margaret. Two notes 
for Bess. 

Act II — Rouge, eyebrow pencil, etc., for Kitty. Chate- 
laine vanity box, mirror, paper, pen, ink, etc., for Margaret. 
Watch for Elizabeth. Handkerchief, etc., for Harry. 



THE WINNING WIDOW. 



SCENE PLOT. 



Archwayi 



i — z^ 1 with I ^zz — \ 

/^O P'ano Curtains Desk | 1 \ 

JL^O Stool Chair a A__ 

Door to Door to 

ining Room ^ Adjoining F 

/chairD Q D Chair Couch C^^ \ 



STAGE DIRECTIONS. 

R. means right of stage; C, center; R. C, right center; 
L., left; R.D., right door; L.D., left door, etc.; upstage, 
away from footlights ; downstage, near footlights. The actor 
is supposed to be facing the audience. 



THE WINNING WIDOW 



Act I. 

Scene: Drawing room at Mrs. Snowden's home. Prac- 
tical doors at R. and L. Lady's writing desk and chair at 
back, left of C. Small table with books, lamp, etc., R. C. 
downstage. Chairs either side of table. Couch L. C. down- 
stage. Other arrangements to suit taste. An air of ele- 
gance pervades everything. 

At rise Kitty is discovered, practicing at piano. 

Kitty. One — two — three — four ; one — two — three — 
four; one — two — three — four. The idea of beginning to 
learn music at my age — especially when you haven't a bit 
of it in you. One — two — three — four. 

Enter Bess R. Walks up behind her. 

Bess . Did you want me to — 

Kitty (jumping up, screaming). O-o-o-h! Goodness! 
How you startled me, Bess. What do you want? 

Bess (timidly). Why — why — nothing. I just wanted to 
dust the parlor, if you wanted — 

Kitty. Excellent, Bess; excellent. Til be delighted to 
have you dust. (Closes piano with a bang.) I was only 
trying to please mamma by learning how to pound the 
piano. She does love music so, you know. (Walks toward 
R. looking toward Bess hesitatingly, as though wanting to 
speak, but uncertain how to proceed.) 

Bess (looking over shoulder). Was that music, Miss 
Kitty? 

Kitty. Oh, no, no, no! Never a note of it. That was 
just downright noise, pure and unadulterated. But mamma 
fondly hopes it may grow into music some day. And so 
it's one — two — three — four ; one — two — three — four, for me. 

Bess. You seem to hurry the tempo — 

6 



THE WINNING WIDOW. 7 

Kitty. Hurry the what ? (Eyes Bess curiously.) What 
do you know about — 

Bess (in confusion). Not a thing in the world, Miss 
Kitty. I just — just — seemed to remember hearing some- 
body somewhere say something like — 

Kitty (unsuspiciously) . I see. (Sits.) Bess, it's a ter- 
rible thing when people suddenly become rich. 

Bess (busily dusting). But, oh, Miss Kitty, it's a much 
more terrible thing when people suddenly become poor! 

Kitty. I don't know anything about that, of course. I 
was poor all my life, you see, and didn't know anything else. 

Bess. And I was rich all my life and didn't know any- 
thing else. 

Kitty (with faint interest). Were you, really? Poor 
you. But, Bess, I'd change places with you if I could. 
You ask why? 

Bess (pausing and looking at Kitty innocently). No, I 
didn't, Miss Kitty. 

Kitty. Oh, but you must ask why. Otherwise I 
shouldn't have the least sign of an excuse for telling you. 
And I must tell somebody. 

Bess. Tell away, Miss Kitty. 

Kitty (eagerly). You do ask why, then. 

Bess (indifferently). I'm just crazy to know. 

Kitty. There! Now you're getting almost human, and 
I like you. 

Bess (turning and bowing). Thank you, Miss Kitty. 
(Returns to work.) 

Kitty. But listen. 

Bess (over shoulder). I am listening. 

Kitty. But sit down. I can't talk to you decently when 
you act that way. 

Bess (turning in amazement) . Sit down? Me? Here? 

Kitty. Sit down! You! There! (Points to chair. Bess 
sits, slowly and reluctantly.) That's more sociable. Now 
listen. Mamma is so fond of music she keeps me drum- 
ming, drumming, drumming all day — trying to learn what 
I know I never can learn in the wide, wide world. 



8 THE WINNING WIDOW. 

Bess (with interest). Yes. (Looks nervously at doors.) 

Kitty. But that's not the worst of it. Ever since 
mamma's been a widow, she's bound that Margaret and I 
shall be just the same — 

Bess. Be widows? 

Kitty. Oh, no, no, no! What am I saying? Be single 
old maids — bachelor ladies — spinsterettes, you know. She 
— she — well, you see, she wasn't very happy as a married 
woman, so she — she — (Rises, goes CD., looks out cau- 
tiously). she — well, she fairly hates men of every size and 
shape, and has made up her mind that we, too, shall hate 
them — hate them so much that we shall have nothing what- 
ever to do with, any of them — "so long as we both shall live." 
(Walks back.) Do you see? (Sits.) 

Bess. Hate men, Miss Kitty? And do you? 

Kitty. Not me ! That's the it of it. Why should I ? 

Bess. And Miss Margaret? 

Kitty. Margaret? Humph! She's a girl after mamma's 
own heart. She hates every mother's son of them as one 
hates fuzzy-wuzzy worms — ugh — and poison things, and — 
er — things like that. (Rises again, walks L. entrance, look- 
ing out and listening cautiously.) But now, Bess, listen! 

Bess. Yes, Miss Kitty. 

Kitty (walking back to Bess). I'm afraid I — I — I rather 
like men myself. 

Bess. Yes, Miss Kitty. 

Kitty. Don't you ? 

Bess. Why — er — er — yes, Miss Kitty. 

Kitty. Especially — especially — (walks R. entrance and 
looks off, then walks back, speaking loud whisper) . Bess ! 

Bess (looks up startled). Yes, Miss Kitty. 

Kitty. I — I — I — I want to tell you — something. 

Bess. Yes, Miss Kitty. 

Kitty. I — I — I — you won't tell anybody? 

Bess. Yes, Miss Kitty. 

Kitty. What ? Oh, but you mustn't ! 

Bess. I — I — mean no, Miss Kitty. 

Enter Margaret R. She looks around anxiously. Girls 



THE WINNING WIDOW. 9 

jump up, Bess pretending to dust and Kitty looking over 
music on piano eagerly, then speaking over shoulder. 

Kitty. Did you want something, Margaret? 

Margaret {looking at Bess with troubled eye). No, I 
guess not. {Exits R., slowly , still looking from one to the 
other as if worried. Kitty follows her to entrance and 
watches her out.) 

Kitty {returning to chair). Bess, come here. 

Bess {returning to place). Yes, Miss Kitty. 

Kitty. Sit down again. 

Bess {nervously, looking all around). Had I better? 
(Kitty motions to her imperatively and she sits obedi- 
ently.) Yes, Miss Kitty. 

Kitty. I have to tell you all this, you see, because — 
because — I want you to help me. 

Bess {rising in astonishment). Me? (Kitty nods.) 
Help you? (Kitty nods.) Help you what? Like the men? 

Kitty (walks L.). Oh, no, no! I don't need any help 
that way, Bess. This is a much more serious matter. I — 
I- — come here. (Bess follows.) Sit down. {They sit sofa 
L.) I want to tell you something. 

Bess. So you said, Miss Kitty. 

Kitty. Listen. 

Bess. So I do, Miss Kitty. 

Enter Margaret, C, looking around as before. Kitty 
runs to music, Bess to dusting. Margaret looks from one 
to the other, puzzled. 

Margaret. What are you doing here, Kitty? 

Kitty. Just trying to find a sheet of music. Why ? 

Margaret {in confusion). Oh, nothing. I just — 

Kitty. Did you want me? 

Margaret. Why, of course not. {Looks at Bess.) 
How long before you will be through here, Bess,? 

Bess. Me? Oh, not long, Miss Margaret. {Looks at 
Kitty, who shakes head at her warningly.) I — I — I — don't 
just know how long, Miss Margaret. (Kitty nods approval 



10 THE WINNING WIDOW. 

at her behind Margaret's back.) Why? Did you want 
me? 

Margaret. I — I — I guess not. (Exits R., slowly. 
Kitty watches her off, follows to entrance, then returns to 
sofa.) 

Kitty. We'll try it again, Bess. 

Bess (coming to her). Yes, Miss Kitty. 

Kitty. Now sit down and listen. Listen fast. 

Bess (sits). I am, Miss Kitty. Fast as a racing-horse. 

Kitty. Well, last night when I went to take my music 
lesson, you know — (Bess nods) oh, it's just too romantic! 
I met a man — a young mari — oh, he was too handsome ! 

Bess. Did you, Miss Kitty — and was he? 

Kitty. I did, and he was ! I liked him so much. ! And I 
just think he liked me, too. 

Bess. Did he, Miss Kitty? 

Kitty. Anyway, he said he did. 

Bess. Then, of course, he did. 

Kitty. Just what I thought, Bess. And he — he— he 
wanted to call. 

Bess (rises in surprise). To call? Not here? 

Kitty. Yes, here! Wasn't it too beautifully brave and 
bold and daring of him? Do sit down, Bess. 

Bess (sitting). Yes, Miss Kitty. (Looks worried.) 

Kitty. Of course I told him just how mamma felt, and 
what she wanted us to do, and — and — oh, we thought of 
just the loveliest plan. He's coming to see mamma. 

Bess (jumping up again). Your mother? 

Kitty. Yes, mamma herself. Isn't it too delicious ? Sit 
down, Bess. 

Bess (sitting, troubled). But, Miss Kitty — 

Kitty. Oh, we've thought of all the "buts" and it's 
going to be just too perfectly darling and romantic! He's 
coming as a — a — piano tuner. 

Bess (jumping up). A piano tuner? 

Kitty. Yes, — mamma's too suspicious of music teachers, 
you know, so that wouldn't work. But isn't it lovely? Sit 
down, Bess. (Bess sits, sighs.) He thought of it all him- 



THE WINNING WIDOW. 11 

self, too. Mamma likes music so (rising to pantomime) 
she'll surely let. him come right in, and you must open the 
door for him (illustrates) and send for me, you see (points 
to self), and — (bows low, hands outspread) — thus we meet. 
Isn't it a perfectly beautiful plan? (Dances to R.) 

Bess (troubled). I — guess — so. (Bess rises uncer- 
tainly.) 

Kitty. Why, of course it is — just heavenly! (Walks 
back to Bess.) But, remember, Bess. Not one word to 
Margaret, nor to — to — anybody. You mustn't even think 
it to yourself. You mustn't know a thing. 

Bess. I won't. I never do. 

Kitty. Margaret's just as bad as mamma, you know, 
if not worse, and if she should find out — (sighs) — it would 
be all up with little Kitty. 

Enter Margaret, L. 

Margaret. Kitty! (Kitty and Bess separate as before. 
Kitty sits stool.) 

Kitty (whirling around on stool). Goodness, Margaret, 
how you startle one. 

Margaret (haughtily). Evidently. (Walks R.) Mamma 
wants you. 

Kitty. Did she say so? 

Margaret. What a question ! Certainly. 

Kitty. What for? 

Margaret. How should I know? Something about your 
music, I suppose. The best way I know of finding out 
is to — 

Kitty (rising). Yes? 

Margaret (turning from her to watch Bess, nervously). 
Go and see. 

Kitty (mockingly). How brilliant of you, Margaret, 
to have figured all that out for yourself ! I will go and see 
at once. (Exits R. At entrance looks back and shakes 
head at Bess, with finger on lip. Bess shakes head reas- 
suringly.) 

Margaret (turning from table, where she has been fin- 
gering magazines idly). I thought she was going to hang 



12 THE WINNING WIDOW. 

around here all day. (Walks up behind Bess, speaks mys- 
teriously.) I wanted to talk to you, Bess. 

Bess (turning in surprise). To talk to me, Miss Mar- 
garet ? 

Margaret. Yes. I — I — I have something very impor- 
tant to say to you. 

Bess. Yes, Miss Margaret. 

Margaret (cautiously) . You know — I am sure you must 
have heard — how badly mamma hates men? (They walk 
down front.) 

Bess. Yes, I believe I have heard something about it, 
Miss Margaret. 

Margaret. And how she won't permit either of us girls 
to even speak to one of them, if — if — if — she knows it? 

Bess. Why, I — I — I've heard something like that, Miss 
Margaret. 

Margaret. Now as for Kitty — my sister, you know — 
somehow she's just as bad, and I wouldn't have her know 
about this for the world. (Walks L.D., looking out cau- 
tiously, then back.) But I — I — well, I don't feel just exactly 
the way they do, and I can't make myself do it. You see, I 
just somehow feel that these dreadful men may be a — a — a 
sort of necessary evil, don't you know, which can't be cured, 
and so must be endured. You understand ? 

Bess. I — I think so, Miss Margaret. You like them? 

Margaret (hastily). Oh, I wouldn't go so far as to say 
that, Bess. I — just try to tolerate them, you know, for 
humanitarian ends. 

Bess. I see. 

Margaret. Good. Now, to come to the point. When 
I was at the library last evening, I met a young man who 
seemed very attractive, and intelligent, and really a most 
agreeable sort of a person. I must admit that I was quite 
— er — er — attracted by him. You understand? 

Bess. I — I — think so, Miss Margaret. You were smit- 
ten by him. Struck ! Mashed ! 

Margaret. Oh, no, no ! Not so far as that, Bess. But 
— he wanted to call. 



THE WINNING WIDOW. 13 

Bess {shocked). He did? Here? Why, the audacious — 

Margaret {walks uneasily R. D., looks out cautiously, 
then walks back to Bess) . Oh, not at all, Bess. Not at all. 
I thought it was very kind of him. He was so intellectual, 
so cultured, such a student — recently from Boston, you 
know — and you've seen how anxious mamma is for me to 
improve my mind and learn to write poetry? 

Bess. Why, er — yes, Miss Margaret. 

Margaret. Well, just you listen. This young man is a 
poet — a real poet — there is no question about that. When 
I told him how mamma and Kitty felt — about men, you 
know — and how they both wanted me to feel, he proposed 
the most romantic plan. 

Bess. Romantic? 

Margaret. Yes, indeed. No one but a real, true poet 
could have thought of it. {Walks uneasily C, peering out 
between curtains, then back, speaking mysteriously.) He is 
going to come to call on mamma. 

Bess. On your mother? (Margaret nods.) Mrs. 
Snowden ? 

Margaret. Why not? And what do you think? (Looks 
all around cautiously, then speaks, again, mysteriously.) 
He's coming as a book agent. 

Bess. A book agent ? 

Margaret (warningly). 'Sh! Not so loud. Yes, you 
know how mamma likes books of all kinds — especially po- 
etry. (Bess nods.) And he's coming to sell her some of 
the latest editions of the poets. Won't it be glorious? 

Bess. I — I — guess so. 

Margaret. Guess so ? Why, it's as plain as the nose on 
your face. (Bess feels of nose. Wears puzzled expression.) 
In that way he'll get in without any trouble, and yoii must 
take his card and come right for me. Do you see ? 

Bess. Yes, Miss Margaret. When he comes to tune the 
piano — 

Margaret. No, no ! I didn't say a word about the piano ! 
I said — ■ 

Bess (in embarrassment, recovering herself). Oh, yes — 



14 THE WINNING WIDOW. 

to sell books — poetry — I am to get you, instead of your 
mother. 

Margaret. That's it. Me — not mamma. And for your 
life, Bess, don't let Kitty know. 

Bess. Why, but she — (catching herself) — no, no! I'll 
not let her know. 

Margaret. I must run up now and fix my hair again. 
I don't know just when he may come, but I don't think he 
will be very late in getting around. Be careful, Bess, and 
remember not to say a single word to anyone. I'm going 
to give you something elegant for standing by me "in this. 

Bess. Thank you, Miss Margaret. (Exit Margaret, 
C.) My! Even the haughty Margaret can bend a little, 
can she — when she has an ax to grind. And to poor, insig- 
nificant Bess, too — the serving maid! If she only knew 
h.ow short a time ago I was as wealthy and as popular 
and as attractive as she herself is now — that I, too, was 
sought after by men of position and attainment — that I, 
too, liked the men — a little — and felt that some of them, 
at least, liked me, she might — but what's the use? It takes 
a mere turn of fortune's wheel to pull even the highest 
down from his lofty position. Only a bit of lawyer-trust- 
ing, and here I am, serving for my daily bread. And who 
is enjoying the benefit of my loss, I do not even know. I 
thought father's wealth was secure and my future assured ; 
but when he died I — saw it all swept away in the mere 
scratching of a pen, the old home sold, the family treasures 
scattered to the four winds of wealthdom, and found my- 
self — reduced to — this ! A widow whose husband had, they 
claimed, been defrauded by my father, is now enjoying the 
recompense. I am glad I kept the papers. They may be of 
use to me some time, in some way. I suppose it's all just, 
but — (bell rings) — hello! One of the impatient suitors, I 
suppose. (Exits L.) , 

Re-enter Bess, immediately, followed by Harry. It must 
be evident that Bess recognizes Harry, but doesn't wish 
him- to recognize her. 



THE WINNING WIDOW. 15 

Bess. Right this way, sir. I'll take your card to Mrs. 
Snowden. 

Harry (detaining her). No, no! To Miss Snowden — 
Miss Kitty Snowden. 

Bess (keeping face averted, speaking in low tone). Why 
— I — understood — 

Harry (confidentially and significantly) . I came to tune 
the piano, and — 

Bess (turning face a little off guard). Yes, but Miss 
Kitty said — 

Harry (in amazement) . Bess, is this you? 

Bess. I begin to doubt it, Harry. (They shake hands 
silently.) 

Harry. Why have you hidden yourself away like this? 
I have looked for you for months. Indeed, the whole 
family — 

Bess (drawing away from him). The family? Humph! 
What's the good of a family when one's money is all gone? 
(Turns back on him, walks L.) 

Harry (following, laying hand on her shoulder). But, 
Bess — 

Bess. Every one turned from me. 

Harry. It was you who turned from us. 

Bess. Humph ! 

Harry. Am I not your cousin? 

Bess. The law says so. 

Harry. Am I not your friend? 

Bess. I thought so — once. 

Harry. Then think so again, for I assure you, Bess, on 
my honor as a man, and a Deane, that I've never changed 
in the smallest particular. Let me tell your uncle — 

Bess (emphatically stamping foot). No! 

Harry (dodging as though struck). But — 

Bess. You will tell no one, Harry Deane ! 

Harry. But listen, Bess. I must — 

Bess. No one, I say ! I am Bess Jones, the maid. No one 
but Bess Jones, the maid ! I never have been anybody else ; 
I never will be anybody else ! Do you understand ? 



16 THE WINNING WIDOW. 

Harry. Y-e-s. 

Bess (stamping foot again). I forbid you to know one 
thing ! 

Harry (trembling and dodging in mock alarm). Y-e-s. 

Bess. You came to see Mrs. Snowden. I — Bess Jones, 
the maid — will go and get Mrs. Snowden. (Starts L.) 

Harry. I say, Bess, it was Miss Kitty — 

Bess. -Very well, I'll call Kitty. (Over shoulder.) Bet- 
ter sit down. (Exits L. At door meets Elizabeth, who is 
entering. Hands Harry's card to Elizabeth, turns and 
bows to him.) Mrs. Snowden, sir. 

Harry (aside). Can this really be her mother? 

Elizabeth. Bess, what does this mean? 

Bess (embarrassed). It means — it means — 

Harry (aside, admiringly). By George! What a beauty 
she is! 

Elizabeth (sternly). Who is this man? 

Bess. It's — it's — (looks at him helplessly). 

Harry (coming forward, speaks very obsequiously) . My 
name is Deane. (Elizabeth looks at card in hand and 
nods.) I came, if you please, madam, to see about tuning 
your piano. 

Elizabeth (relieved). I see. (Walks toward piano, 
then speaks over shoulder.) You may go, Bess. (Exit 
Bess, R.) It doesn't seem in very good condition. 

Harry (following). It's a Steinway, isn't it? 

Elizabeth (aside). What a handsome fellow he is. If 
all men were so attractive — (aloud). Yes, it's a Steinway. 

Harry. You play, of course. 

Elizabeth. No. None of us except my daughter and 
she has only begun to learn. Hitherto a very busy life 
along other lines has — 

Enter Kitty, R., hastily, with worried air. 

Kitty. Did you call me, mamma? 

Elizabeth (displeased). Did I call you, child? Cer- 
tainly not. What do you mean ? Go upstairs to your duties. 



THE WINNING WIDOW. 17 

Kitty (looking at Harry with troubled eye. He avoids 
her look). But, mamma, I — 

Elizabeth. Go at once, I tell you. (She looks fixedly 
at Kitty, who at first lingers, but is finally compelled to 
leave.) That was my little girl, Mr. — Mr. — Deane, did 
you say? 

Harry. Yes, Mrs. — (hesitates, inquiringly). 

Elizabeth. Snowden. 

Harry. Snowden. Thank you. Deane is my name. 
Harry Deane. 

Elizabeth (very sweetly). Won't you sit down? (They 
sit, she on sofa, he on chair by table.) I used to know some 
Deanes near Boston — the Cuthbert Deanes. Are you re- 
lated to the family? 

Harry. Distantly. 

Elizabeth. They are very cultured people, I am sure. 
You resemble them slightly, I think, about the nose and 
eyes — perhaps the chin, also, a little, and the lips. (Coquet- 
tishly.) Cuthbert Deane was a very handsome man. 

Harry (visibly flattered). So I have heard, Mrs. Snow- 
den. You flatter me. 

Elizabeth. Oh, not at all ; not at all. I only try to give 
credit where I see that credit is due. 

Enter Kitty, C. 

Kitty. Mamma, don't you think I'd better — (Eliza- 
beth rises commandingly) . 

Harry (aside). I do wonder where Bess is. This sort 
of thing is all right, once in awhile, but it gets too much of 
a good thing — 

Elizabeth (after vainly trying to overawe Kitty with 
her gaze). Kitty, can't you see that I'm engaged? 

Kitty (looking from one to the other, questioningly) . 
Engaged ? 

Harry (aside). Gee! I wish she was. (Uneasily.) Why 
doesn't Bess come back? 

Elizabeth. Busy, I mean. 

Kitty (relieved). Oh, I — I — I didn't notice. 



18 THE WINNING WIDOW. 

Elizabeth. Why, where are your eyes, child? And 
your manners ? 

Kitty (trying in vain to catch Harry's eye). I — I — 
don't know. But you see, mamma, I thought, as it was my 
practice hour, and you never let 'me neglect it — 

Elizabeth. I will call you when the room is free. Till 
then I must insist that you leave us alone. 

Kitty. Very well, mamma. But if I don't have my 
lesson — 

Elizabeth (sternly). Katherine! 

Kitty. Yes, mamma. (Kitty goes to C. D. and Eliza- 
beth returns to chair. Kitty tries to catch Harry's eye in 
vain. Clears throat, coughs, etc., but he is too busy admir- 
ing Elizabeth. She sighs, shakes head and exits C.) 

Elizabeth (sits). As I was saying, the Deanes near 
Boston were always very close friends of our family, and 
Cuthbert Deane, especially, was rather intimate with my 
poor, dear husband as long as he lived. Since he left me — 
( weeps ) — I — I — I — haven't — 

Harry (rising and walking to her). Oh, come now, Mrs. 
Snowden. You mustn't take on in this way, you really 
mustn't, you know. I can't bear to see a woman cry; I 
really can't. It — it — it — why, it just breaks me all up in 
business, it really does. I — I — (aside) — hang it all, what 
in the world shall I say? (Sits by her.) I — I know, Mrs. 
Snowden, that a widow's grief must naturally be very 
great, but still it cannot be altogether inconsolable. There 
is always a ray of hope somewhere, surely — a faint gleam 
of promise in the heavens— 

Elizabeth (sobbing). I can't — see — any. 

Harry. Why, look at me. Am I not here? And am I 
not a Deane ? As a Deane, then, can I not be your — your — 
your friend? And as a friend may I not have some right 
to — to — to — comfort you in your affliction, and — and — 
how does it go? — visit your fatherless children in their 
loneliness? 

Elizabeth. My girls do not — do not — like men. 

Harry. But you, Mrs. Snowden? Surely you, so young 



THE WINNING WIDOW. 19 

I 
and charming, and yet so lonely — surely you do not banish 

us poor fellows from the sunshine of your approval? 

(Aside.) By Jove! What a mess I'm getting myself into, 

just for a chance to get another word with Bess. (Aloud.) 

Surely you — 

Elizabeth. I? Oh, no! I realize that a woman needs 
the stronger arm of a masculine friend to lean on, but — 
well, as I said, my girls are very bitter against the whole 
sex. If I had a friend who was at the same time a man, 
I should never dare to let them know. 

Harry. Surely not. Why should they know? That 
would be just between you and — and me. (Takes her hand. 
Bell rings off L. She rises and backs away. He picks up 
hat as about to go.) 

Enter Bess, L., followed by Reginald. She is evidently 
at a loss what to do. 

Bess. Come right in this way, sir. 

Harry (aside). Can't I manage a word with Bess? 
(Aloud.) I must go, then, Mrs. Snowden. But may I call 
again — when ? 

Elizabeth (extending hand, speaks aside). Tonight. 

Harry (bowing low over her hand, aside). At eight. 
(Crosses to L. D. Elizabeth follows as far as Reginald, 
then pauses, turns and looks at Bess, inquiringly.) 

Bess (uneasily). A gentleman to see you, Mrs. Snow- 
den. 

Elizabeth (coldly). Yes? I hope you told him — 

Bess. I — I — (watches Harry over shoulder, who has 
been trying to catch her eye. He signs to her behind Eliz- 
abeth's back, but she shakes her head emphatically. He 
sighs and exits.) 

Reginald. Pardon me, madam — Mrs. Snowden, I un- 
derstand. (She bows.) I can hardly believe my ears, 
madam, for I thought you too young to think of being 
"Mrs." yet — but (sighs impressively) I have been informed 
that you are a lady of exceptional literary taste, and I have 
therefore ventured to bring for your inspection our latest 



20 THE WINNING WIDOW. 

edition de luxe of the Cambridge classics. Your fame as a 
critic has been so extended that I — 

Elizabeth {stopping him by wave of hand and turning 
to Bess). You may go, Bess. 

Bess. Yes, Mrs. Snowden. {Crosses to R. At R. looks 
back, troubled, and speaks aside.) I hope the young ladies 
haven't been getting themselves into any trouble. And 
Harry, too. Surely he's had time to get away by now. 
{Exits R.) 

Elizabeth. Won't you sit down, sir? 

Reginald {sits chair). Delighted, I'm sure. (Takes card 
from pocket.) My name, as you see, is Wright— Reginald 
Wright — and I am proud to make your acquaintance. From 
what I have heard of your culture, taste and mature judg- 
ment, I was expecting to find a lady of advanced years. 
You will pardon me, I am sure, for saying that it has quite 
taken my breath away to find you so young and lovely. I 
hope — er — er — I mean to say — is your husband at home? 

Elizabeth {weeping). My husband — poor, dear man — 
is in heaven! 

Reginald. Heaven — without you? Impossible! Forgive 
me for stirring up these delicate emotions, my dear lady. 
Forgive me, if you can, and do not, I beg of you, think of 
me as being utterly devoid of sympathy — and understanding. 
Perhaps I may have sometime heard you spoken of as a 
widow, but if so, seeing you so youthful and charming, I 
naturally forgot all about it. Widowhood is a sad afflic- 
tion — a most grievous affliction. 

Elizabeth {sobbing). Oh, it is, it is! 

Reginald. But permit me to say that it has its allevi- 
ations. 

Elizabeth . Alleviations ? 

Reginald. Certainly. 

Elizabeth. Oh, tell me — tell me truly — where could a 
poor lone widow find them? 

Reginald. Why, in her own beauty and grace and 
charm. Surely no woman could mourn forever over a cold, 
unresponsive grave — 



THE WINNING WIDOW. 21 

Elizabeth. Grave? (Remembering.) Oh, yes. 

Reginald. When her garments become her so perfectly 
as this elegant black does you. 

Elizabeth (over fan). Oh, sir, I fear you are a flat- 
terer! 

Reginald. Flatterer? Never! I'm a poet. 

Elizabeth. Poet? Ah! Are you? I adore poets. 

Reginald. You do ? Happy fellows ! Then may I not — 
Enter Margaret, R. 

Margaret. Mamma, did you want me? 

Elizabeth. Want you? Why, no; certainly not. Why 
should I? 

Margaret. But Bess said — (looks at Reginald with 
longing eyes, but he avoids her gaze). I understood — 

Elizabeth (coldly). Bess must have been mistaken, 
Margaret. I had not even thought of you. 

Margaret. But, mamma — 

Elizabeth. That will do, Margaret. Can't you see that 
I am busy? 

Margaret. Yes, but — 

Elizabeth (rises). Margaret! (Watches until Marga- 
ret exits at R. Margaret looks back over shoulder, but 
meeting her mother s eye, exits with a dignified sweep.) I 
cannot see what is the matter with that child. (Returns to 
chair.) 

Reginald (pretending amazement). Surely, Mrs. Snow- 
den, you do not mean that you have a daughter as old as 
that young lady. 

Elizabeth. Why, certainly. 

Reginald. A step-daughter, then, surely. 

Elizabeth. Nothing of the sort. My own daughter, I 
assure you. 

Reginald (gazing admiringly at her). I cannot believe it. 

Elizabeth (play f idly) . Why will you flatter an old, old 
woman ? 

Reginald (jumping up, looking all around). Where is 
she? 

Elizabeth . Who ? 



♦22 THE WINNING WIDOW. 

Reginald; Why, the "old, old woman" you spoke of. 

Elizabeth (slapping him with fan). Be good. 

Reginald (humbly). Til try. 

Elizabeth. But you were speaking of a book. 

Reginald. Indeed, yes. Do let me show it to you. 
(They sit sofa, looking at book.) See, here we have the 
Brownings — wasn't theirs an ideal love? — and Burns, and 
Byron — such lovers ! — and Tennyson, and Shelley, all poets 
of the tender passion — 

Elizabeth (archly). They say all poets make good 
lovers. 

Margaret comes to C. D., looks in, very worried ex- 
pression. 

Reginald. I would certainly like the opportunity of 
proving it to you. 

Margaret (anxiously). Mamma! 

Elizabeth (springing up). Margaret! (Margaret 
withdraws slowly.) My daughters, Mr. Wright, do not like 
men. They have a very strong and unaccountable aversion 
to all the masculine creation. 

Reginald (catching her hand). But you — you — surely 
do not share it? 

Elizabeth. I? Oh, no, indeed ! But I dare not let them 
know. Why, they — they would disinherit me! 

Reginald. Unkind daughters. But you would find 
plenty of friends to — to — mherit you again, quickly enough. 
(Looks watch.) I must go. I really must. I did not realize 
how long I had been away from the office. You have 
tempted me, beautiful lady, with glimpses of Paradise. 
And — you will let me come again? (She nods.) Tonight? 

Elizabeth (extending hand). Yes, at eight. 

Reginald (bowing low over her hand). You are too 
good to me. I cannot thank you sufficiently. I — I — I will 
come tonight. (Exits L., bowing elaborately.) 

Elizabeth. Tonight — at 'eight. And I — why, I told 
Mr. — Mr. — Mr. — (looks card). Oh, yes, Mr. Deane, to 
come at the very same hour. How very thoughtless of me ! 



THE WINNING WIDOW. 23 

But, to save my soul, I cannot tell which I prefer. They are 
both so very fascinating— far more endurable than the aver- 
age male creature. But, oh, dear ! I must never, never let the 
girls know. What would they say? What would they do? 
I, who have been such a confirmed man-hater, to become 
so attracted to two different ones in the same day. It is 
inconceivable' Why, I can't even believe it of myself. 

Enter Bess, R. 

Bess (looking all around room). Are you — a — a — alone, 
Mrs. Snowden? 

Elizabeth {impatiently). Can't you see? 

Bess (mystified). But — (hesitates, mysteriously). 

Elizabeth. Well? 

Bess. Miss Margaret and Miss Kitty — (hesitates). 

Elizabeth (quickly). What about them? 

Bess. Why, they — they — nothing! 

Elizabeth. Certainly, "much ado about nothing." (Sus- 
piciously). * What have they been saying about me? 

Bess (surprised) . Not a thing. 

Elizabeth (relieved). Of course not. I knew they 
hadn't. What should they say? What could they say? 
How ridiculous! (Bess starts R., Elizabeth L. Then 
Elizabeth turns.) Oh, Bess! (Bess turns.) You are a 
good girl, Bess. 

Bess (bows). Thank you, ma'am. 

Elizabeth. Yes, you are a very good girl. I — I — I 
would like to tell you something. 

Bess. You, too, Mrs. Snowden? % 

Elizabeth. Why two? I am only one. 

Bess. I — I — I meant — you — really you — Mrs. Snowden. 

Elizabeth. Yes. (goes nervously to R. D. y looks out.) 
Sit down, Bess. 

Bess (sits sofa, wonderingly). Yes, ma'am. 

Elizabeth (returning). I — I — I — don't want the girls 
to know anything about this — 

Bess. No, ma'am. 

Elizabeth (sits sofa). Bess, I — I — I expect some young 
men to call on me this evening — on business, you under- 



24 THE WINNING WIDOW. 

stand — (Bess nods) — strictly on business. I— I — I think 
it is much better that the girls should not know anything 
about it. I — I — (rises) — I think I hear one of them com- 
ing. (Bess rises. Elizabeth takes her by the arm.) I 
am trusting you, Bess. Come with me to my own room and 
I'll tell you more about it. (Leads her R., then turns around 
and goes L.) No, I am sure I hear somebody coming. 
We'll go up the hall stair. (They exeunt L., confidentially.) 

Margaret enters R., with letter. 

Margaret (calls softly and cautiously). Bess! Bess! 
Dear me! Isn't she here? I'll just send this note to Regi- 
nald right away. I must explain why I didn't manage to 
meet him before mamma got hold of him. Dear me! What 
if Kitty had known anything about it, or even mistrusted? 
Bess! Bess! Where can she be? (Exits R., calling off R.) 
Bess! Bess! 

Enter Kitty, L. 

Kitty (cautiously). Oh, Bess! I wish you — (looks all 
around.) Why, where has she gone? (Calls softly.) Bess! 
Bess! Oh, goodness! Where is that girl, anyway? I just 
must have her. I want to get this note to Harry right 
straight off, so he will know why I had to let him go without 
seeing him. Poor, dear boy. I do hope he wasn't hurt. 
(Exits C, calling softly.) Bess! Bess! Where are you, 
Bess? 

After pause, enter Bess, L. } with two notes. 

Bess. Now, where can the young ladies be? Those 
young fellows have each sent a note — and both addressed 
to Mrs. Snowden. Of course they meant Miss Snowden, 
and I'll have to be careful that I get the right note to the 
right Miss — the piano tuner to Miss Kitty — the book agent 
to Miss Margaret. (Sighs.) Not much chance for a mis- 
take, though. I'd know Harry's handwriting anywhere, and 
he's supposed to be the piano tuner. Dear Harry. Once 
I thought he cared for me. I really did. What fools girls 
are! And I'd have surely married him, too, if I hadn't so 
suddenly lost all the money I thought I had. But, losing 



THE WINNING WIDOW. 25 

the money, of course, I lost Harry, too. It wasn't his fault. 
He said he had been looking for me, and — well, maybe he 
had. It's nice to think it might have been. But — it's Miss 
Kitty he's looking for now ; there's no dodging that. I'll — 
I'll— 

Enter Kitty, R. 

Bess. Here, Miss Kitty, is a note that came for you. 

Kitty (eagerly). A note? For me? Oh, do let me have 
it, quick! (Takes it excitedly, zvhile Bess holds the other 
one behind her back.) Why, it says Mrs. Snowden, Bess. 

Bess (at R.). I suppose he wrote it in a hurry, Miss 
Kitty. (Exits R.) 

Enter Elizabeth, L. } stands just inside entrance. 

Kitty (tears open note, reading eagerly, facing R.). 
"Fair lady, I must see you again tonight." Oh, the dear 
boy! "I did not know before how much my little call this 
morning was going to mean to me." Oh, how sweet ! "It's 
a life and death matter now — you little know how serious." 
Can he mean all that? Sounds rather strong, seems to me. 
"I cannot write it. It would take too long, and I haven't 
words to express it." How romantic! "I must see you. 
Don't deny me." 

Elizabeth (advancing). Kitty, what does this mean? 

Kitty (hiding note behind her in alarm). It means I — 
I — why, it doesn't mean anything at all. 

Elizabeth (sternly). From whom was that letter? 

Kitty. Why, from — from — nobody at all. 

Elizabeth. Kitty ! 

Kitty. I mean, from — from — a friend. 

Elizabeth (sarcastically). Sounded like it. Let me 
see it. 

Kitty (backing away). Why, I — I — it isn't mine. 

Elizabeth (insisting). Let me see it % ! 

Kitty (exasperated, tears note into small pieces).' Yes, 
— I'll — let— you — see — it, — since — you — compel — me, — but 
just — the — smallest — smallest — bits! (Puts the scraps in 
Elizabeth's hand, defiantly.) 



26 THE WINNING WIDOW. 

Elizabeth. Kitty, I must insist upon an explanation — 
(Kitty hangs head sullenly) — at once. Come with me and 
tell me just all there is to know about this miserable letter. 
( Takes Kitty by arm and leads her forcibly out L., Kitty 
hanging back stubbornly.) 

Enter Margaret, R. 

Margaret {with note). This note says Mrs. Snowden, 
but Bess says she knows it's meant for me. Reginald left 
it, she says, with his own dear hands. (Reads.) "Adorable 
creature, heaven has opened its pearly gates to me, since I 
gazed into your celestial orbs !" How poetic \ "You have; 
as it were, in the twinkling of an hour, become the glory 
and splendor of my existence." 

Enter Elizabeth, L. 

Elizabeth. Margaret, what is that? 

Margaret. A — a — a poem. 

Elizabeth. Where did you get it? 

Margaret. I — I — I copied it out of a magazine. 

Elizabeth (holding out hand). Let me see — 

Margaret. Why, it — isn't all here, mamma. 

Elizabeth (sternly). Let me see! 

Margaret (nervously crumpling up letter in hand). It 
really doesn't amount to anything. Not worth reading, 
mamma. Don't bother about the thing. I'll put it in the 
fire. (Exits R., hastily.) 

Elizabeth. What does all this mean? Have both my 
girls a lover unknown to me? Surely, that could not be! 
(Paces floor.) It must not be! It shall not be! I, who 
have suffered so much through the matrimonial experience 
I have had, only knowing such a few brief years of free- 
dom, shunning all things masculine, until — until — today — 
cannot see my precious girls headed for the same disastrous 
pathway — cannot stand by and watch — 

Enter Kitty, L., weeping. Enter Margaret, R., weeping. 

Elizabeth. Girls, come here. (Elizabeth holds out 
arms. Girls both run to her. She throws an arm around 



THE WINNING WIDOW. 27 

each and they sob on her shoulders.) Oh, my dear, darling 
daughters! What is this that has come to you both, when 
I have tried for so long to guard and protect you from the 
fate I have had to endure? {Girls instantly straighten up 
and face each other in amazemeent. Elizabeth backs 
to C.) 

Kitty {at L., shaking finger at Margaret). You? 

Margaret {at R., shaking head emphatically). No! 
{Shakes finger at Kitty.) You? 

Kitty {shaking head emphatically). No! 

Margaret and Kitty {together). What can she mean? 
{Both turn and look inquiringly at Elizabeth, who holds 
out a hand to each, appealingly, they looking at her in mute 
inquiry, and then, puzzled, at each other. Hold poses for — ) 

Curtain. 



Act II. 

Scene : Same as Act L Stage not fully lighted. 

Kitty discovered alone, pacing floor. 

Kitty. Dear me! Dear me! And dear Harry! {Looks 
around slily, as though afraid of being overheard.) What- 
ever shall I do ? I told him I'd see him when he called, and 
I certainly thought I'd see him. Goodness knows I wanted to 
see him badly enough. But {shakes head and sighs) it sim- 
ply didn't happen that way. It wasn't to be, somehow, so* it 
just didn't be — and that's all there is to it. He saw mamma 
first, and there's never any danger of her letting me see a 
man — a dreadful, horrid man — either in this world or the 
next. What pains she took to drive me out of the room. 
The Widow "assisted" all right, and held the trump card — 
as usual. {Giggles.) It isn't funny, but the other fellow 
might get a laugh out of it. He said in his note that he'd 
call tonight, and I just must manage to see him some way. 
It must be time for him now. Wonder how I look. Mamma 
used to keep a mirror and powder puff somewhere in this 
desk — for emergencies like this. {Searches desk.) Where 



28 THE WINNING WIDOW. 

are they? Here's her eyebrow pencil and the rouge pot, but 
I don't find any. mirror. How'll I get it on? Oh goodness! 
I hear somebody coming. I'll bet he's here now. (Daubs 
rouge on eyebrows and rubs lips black with pencil, closes 
desk and turns quickly to L.) 

Enter Margaret, L. Kitty shrinks back. 

Kitty. Margaret! You? 

Margaret. For goodness sake ! Kitty Snowden ! What- 
ever is the matter with you? And what have )^ou been do- 
ing to yourself? 

Kitty (innocently). Why — er — er— nothing. Why? 
• Margaret. You look like a wild Indian! 

Kitty (horrified). Like a — what? (Aside.) I wonder 
if she mistrusts something about Harry? 

Margaret. Any sort of a barbarian. What have you 
been into? / 

Kitty (mystified) . Why, I thought I looked rather nice. 

Margaret. Nice! Horrors! Queer taste for beauty. 
Look at that, (Opens chatelaine vanity box and holds it 
before Kitty's face. Kitty shrieks and covers face with 
hands.) Better go and wash your face, I think, before 
mamma begins to ask questions. (Walks desk.) 

Kitty (frightened). Yes, yes! I will. (Goes R. D., 
speaks over shoulder, worried voice.) Are you going to 
be in the room long? 

Margaret (turning from desk in surprise). Why, I 
don't know. Why? 

Kitty (nervously) . Oh — oh — nothing. (Exits R.) 

Margaret. How peculiar everybody acts today. I won- 
der if they suspect anything. They just watch me, and 
watch me, and watch me! Wonder if they notice anything 
— er — out — of — the — usual about me. If that Bess should 
dare reveal what she knows — heavens ! What would mamma 
and Kitty do to me? Maybe what wouldn't they do would 
be more to the point. (Sits desk.) I must write another 
note and get it off to Reginald before time for him to call. 
(Searches for paper, pen, ink, etc.) I don't know what 
to say to him, but I must say something. Let me see. 



THE WINNING WIDOW. 29 

(Writes.) "My poor, dear Reginald" — sounds a trifle too 
familiar, perhaps, when I never met him until last evening, 
but — what's time, anyway? I'm sure I've lived centuries 
since then, and have known him through a hundred lives — 
every thought of his mind, every hope of his h.eart. I'll 
let it stand and — just a line under the "poor" and two lines 
•under the "dear" — that will be more expressive of what I 
really feel. Now, what next? "I was so sorry — " 

Enter Elizabeth, R. 

Elizabeth (looking at watch). It's almost time — why, 
Margaret ! (Margaret springs up, tearing paper into bits.) 
What were you doing at my desk? 

Margaret. Writing ! 

Elizabeth. Writing what? 

Margaret. Why — er — why, you see, mamma — 

Elizabeth . Well ? 

Margaret. You see — 

Elizabeth. No, I do not see. Show me. 

Margaret. I was 'just making out the list for my new 
spring clothes. 

Elizabeth. Clothes? (Margaret no ds.) A little early 
in the season, perhaps? (Margaret hangs head). Are you 
sure that you were doing that? (Looks at Margaret 
fixedly.) 

Margaret (hesitating). Well — maybe — not real sure. 

Elizabeth. You were answering that mysterious cor- 
respondent who sent that note — that poem, I believe you 
called it — this morning, were you not? (No reply. Mar- 
garet hangs head.) Answer me! 

Margaret (meekly). Yes, mamma. 

Elizabeth. And Kitty? 

Margaret (quickly). Kitty? What does she know about 
it? 

Elizabeth. Nothing of your affairs, perhaps, but a great 
deal more than she owns up of her own. I certainly would 
like to know what you girls have been planning and carrying 
out here under my very nose, while pretending to know 
nothing at all of men. Who is this man? 



30 THE WINNING WIDOW. 

Margaret. I — I — don't know. 

Elizabeth (horrified). Don't know? (Margaret shakes 
head.) This is worse than I feared. (Paces floor.) What 
is his name? 

Margaret. I — I — don't know. Just — just Reginald, he 
said. 

Elizabfth (in horror). Don't know his name? 

Margaret (shaking head guiltily). But, mamma, really, 
you mustn't blame Kitty, for she doesn't know a single thing 
about it. It is all me. (Drops head humbly.) 

Elizabeth (coldly). Kitty must speak for herself. 

Margaret. Oh, mamma, don't let her know ! Please 
don't tell her. She is so bitter against the men. She has 
taken your teaching better than I. Don't turn her against 
me by letting her know of this. 

Elizabeth (with dignity). I will use my own judgment 
as to what I shall say or shall not say. Send Kitty to me. 

Margaret (meekly). Yes, mamma. (Exits R.) 

Elizabeth (pacing floor). 

"Oh, what a tangled web we weave 

When first we practice to deceive !" 
That poet knew his world and its people and their lives, 
if ever anybody did. What would either of the girls say 
if they knew that I — their mother — was expecting callers — 
and men callers, too — this very evening! They would never 
forgive me. (Sits.) Oh, I sometimes wish I had never 
come into all this money, and did not have to live such a 
secluded life in order to keep myself and my daughters out 
of the clutches of fortune hunters. If that man's daughter 
had not so mysteriously disappeared, I would certainly have 
insisted upon her keeping half of the fortune, even if it did 
legally belong to me. It was not right that she, in her youth 
and innocence, should be left to pay all the penalty of her 
father's guilt — or mistakes. But it's ours — we have it — and 
we must — keep away from the men. 

Enter Kitty, R. 

Kitty. Margaret says you want me, mamma. 



THE WINNING WIDOW. , 31 

Elizabeth. I do. I want an explanation of that note 
you were reading this morning. 

Kitty (feigning innocence). What note? 

Elizabeth (sternly). Kitty! 

Kitty. Why, mamma, couldn't you tell it was just a 
joke? 

Elizabeth. I haven't seen the joke yet. Tell me whom 
it was from. 

Kitty. I — I — I don't know, mamma. 

Elizabeth (springs up in dismay). Don't know. You, 
too? What was his name? 

Kitty. Why — why — I forget. 

Elizabeth . Forget ? 

Kitty. Just Harry, he said. 

Elizabeth. Kitty, I am ashamed of you. 

Kitty (meekly). Yes, mamma. 

Elizabeth. And Margaret, too. 

Kitty (in alarm). Oh, mamma! You mustn't let Mar- 
garet know. Please say you won't. I just couldn't stand 
that. She hates the men so, and she would think it so hor- 
rible. Please say you won't tell her. 

Elizabeth (aside). I declare. I cannot understand this 
case at all. 

Enter Bess, R., to turn on lights. Starts to go out. 

Elizabeth. One moment, Bess. (Bess turns.) What 
do you know about this affair? 

Bess. What affair? 

Elizabeth. You may go, Kitty. (Kitty starts out R. 
At entrance looks back and shakes head at Bess, holding up 
finger wamingly. Bess looks troubled.) This morning two 
notes were delivered to my daughters, written by two differ- 
ent young men. Did you hand them in? 

Bess. Yes, ma'am. 

Elizabeth. Where did they come from? 

Bess. From — from — why, from two different young 
men. 

Elizabeth. Yes, but — 



32 THE WINNING WIDOW. 

Bess. All I know is, they were both addressed to Mrs. 
Snowden. 

Elizabeth (astonished). To Mrs. Snowden? 

Bess. Yes, ma'am. 

Elizabeth. Why, that means to me! 

Bess. Yes, ma'am. 

Elizabeth. Then why — 

Bess. They said to give them to the young lady, ma'am. 

Elizabeth (embarrassed). But they meant — oh, I see 
it all now! (Aside.) It is I who am the guilty one, and my 
girls have both been perfectly innocent. No wonder they 
did not even know the men's names. Poor girls! (Aloud, 
turning to Bess again. ) I am sorry you made such a blun- 
der, Bess, after my telling you so explicitly this morning 
just what and whom I was expecting. You have committed 
a very serious mistake, but I will try to straighten it out if 
I can. (Exits L.) 

Bess. I have "committed a serious mistake," have I? 
Well, maybe I have. Maybe I have. Somebody surely has. 
"Blunder" is right. I must be very careful at any rate that 
I don't make any more. (Bell rings L.) There's somebody 
now. (Exits L.) 

Immediately re-enter Bess, L., followed by Reginald. 

Bess. Right in this way, please. Excuse me, sir, but if 
you please (looks all around, cautiously, then speaks in loud 
whisper), are you the book agent? 

Reginald. Guilty. 

Bess. I won't make any mistake, then. I'll get your lady. 
(Exits R., repeating in monotone:) Piano tuner, Kitty; 
book agent, Margaret ; piano tuner, Kitty ; book agent, Mar- 
garet. 

Reginald (rubbing hands together in ecstatic anticipa- 
tion). To think, in just a few moments, I shall see that 
wonderful woman again! I have counted the very seconds 
since I went away from her this morning. How strange 
that she could possibly be the mother of that girl I met at 
the library. Deuced glad I didn't get in too deep with the 
silly little fool. If a fellow could only take a peep at the 



THE WINNING WIDOW. 33 

Widow every time before he bid, he'd be able to play his 
hand so as to take in the whole ten tricks. Blessed if he 
wouldn't. What strange methods old Fate does employ to 
work mischief with a fellow's heart. (Listens.) Ah, here 
she comes. 

Enter Margaret, R. He rashes to meet her, then steps 
back in disappointment. 

Reginald. You ? 

Margaret. Yes — at last! (Holds out hands to him, but 
he backs away. She drops them in confusion.) Mamma 
didn't see you this time, did she? (He shakes head discon- 
solately.) I was so disappointed this morning. 

Reginald (inquiringly, wondering how to escape.) Yes? 

Margaret. Yes, indeed. I didn't know what you would 
think of me. You weren't angry with me, were you? 
Please say no. 

Reginald. Why, of course not. Why should I be? On 
the contrary, I was — 

Margaret (uneasily, interrupting). But listen! I must 
explain before somebody comes in. I did my best to keep 
my word, really I did ; but you see, it's just as I told you. 
Mamma 'does hate men so that she just won't let them in 
the house, and forbids our even speaking to them when we 
meet them — 

Reginald (perplexed). Strange! 

Margaret. Isn't it? It's doubly hard on me, too, be- 
cause my sister Kitty is just as bad as mamma, and would 
be just as severe with me if she found out about — about — 
you. (Looks around cautiously.) I got your note. 

Reginald (surprised). You — got — my — note? {She 
nods, finger on lip.) Why, I — I — didn't — 

Margaret (listening off R.). 'Sh.! I'm afraid I hear 
somebody coming. You — you — 

Reginald. I'll go. I'll — I'll — I'll call some other time. 

Margaret (excitedly). Do! I must hurry out. Don't 
let mamma see you. (Exits R.) 

Reginald. "Don't let mamma see me," eh? Little she 
guesses that that is just the one and only thing I'm here for. 



34 THE WINNING WIDOW. 

And I'm not going to leave until I manage it, either. (Bell 
rings L.) I'll hide out here and watch for "some more con- 
venient season/' (Slips out C.) 

Enter Bess, L. } followed by Harry. 

Bess (coldly). I'll not make any mistake this time. Let 
me see, now. You are supposed to be the piano tuner, 
aren't you, Harry? 

Harry. I don't know what I'm supposed to be, Bess. I'll 
be anybody or anything that will let me inside the door if 
you'll just give me a chance for a word or two with you. 
What will you — 

Bess (severely). Harry Deane, did you, or did you not, 
come here as a piano tuner? 

Harry. Why, Bess, of course — you know I did. But 
wait a moment — I want to talk — (catches her arm). 

Bess. Talk all you like, but not to me. Let me go — at 
once ! What can you possibly have to say to Bess — Jones — 
the maid.* (He releases her and turns head away, bitterly.) 
If you are sure you are impersonating the piano tuner, 
that's all I want to know. I don't want any more blunders 
laid at my door. (Starts R. At entrance speaks over shoul- 
der.) Be seated a minute, sir! (With cutting emphasis 
on the "sir" Exit.) 

Harry. "Sir!" Humph! I hope it won't be more than 
a minute, for I am just dying for a sight of my matronly 
charmer again. To think of her being that foolish little 
girl's man-hating mamma! It's some joke, all right. Any- 
way, I'm going to work a stand-in with her and keep her 
jollied up till Bess thaws out a little and I get a chance to 
really have it out with her. Dear old Bess! She used to 
care a little about me, I'm sure she did, and just what hap- 
pened to — 

Enter Kitty, R. He goes to meet her eagerly, recoils in 
disappointment. 

Harry. You ? 

Kitty. Yes, really and truly — my own very self. I did 
try every way I could think of to see you this morning, 



THE WINNING WIDOW. 35 

but — (shakes head and sighs). I told you how mamma was. 
She simply can't endure men. 

Harry (twisting hat uneasily). I see. 

Kitty. Didn't you notice she wouldn't even introduce 
me? And I've a sister Margaret who's just as bad as she. 
I can tell you it'.s a hard life I live between the two of them. 

Harry (looking around for escape). It must be. 

Kitty (confidentially). But your note came safely. 

Harry (startled). My note! To you? 

Kitty. Certainly. So I was expecting you, you see. 

Harry (mystified). Yes? 

Kitty. It was a perfectly darling note. 

Harry. Was it? (Aside.) Now what in the dickens did 
I say in that nqte? 

Kitty (coquettishly) . As if you didn't remember what 
a dear little message it was. 

Harry. So, it went to — you ! 

Kitty. Straight as a die. Our maid's simply an* angel. 

Harry. "Angel" is right ! Where did you find her ? 

Kitty. Why, she — just came to us. Answered an ad., 
I guess. Why? 

Harry. Oh, nothing! Nothing at all! I just imagined 
she looked a little bit familiar ; that's all. 

Kitty. Oh, no. She never gets familiar. She knows 
her place all right, and I assure you she can be trusted — 

Harry. I am convinced of that. (Aside, looking around 
uneasily.) Plague take the girl! She's a regular leech. 
How in the dickens can I tear loose? 

Margaret (off R., calls). Kitty! 

Kitty (startled). Heavens and earth! That's my sister. 
I must hurry away at once. Slip out as quietly as you can, 
so mamma won't see you. She'd never forgive me if she 
did. (Shakes finger at him.) Be careful. (At entrance 
turns and waves hand in farewell, exits R.) 

Harry (wipes forehead with handkerchief). Whew! 
Now, how to get a chance to "let mamma see me." That's 
the question. If Bess would only — 

Enter Reginald, C. 



36 THE WINNING WIDOW. 

Harry. Beg pardon, sir, but who are you ? 

Reginald. And what's that to, you ? 

Harry. Oh, nothing in particular. Only, as I happen 
to be an especial friend of Mrs. Snowden's — 

Reginald {looking him over scornfully from head to 
foot). You? 

Harry {boastfully, straightening up for inspection). I! 

Reginald {haughtily). You surprise me. I have never 
once heard the lady in question even mention having such 
a person as you upon her list of acquaintances. 

Harry. You cannot be very intimately acquainted with 
her, then. 

Reginald. Pardon me, sir, but I am — very intimately. 
I have — - # 

Harry {interrupting) . I cannot believe — 

Reginald {interrupting) . You dare to doubt — 

Harry {interrupting). I won't — 

Reginald {interrupting) . You shall never — 

Margaret {off R., speaks. At sound of her voice both 
young men start and listen, still facing each other belliger- 
ently, like angry dogs). The long and the short of the 
whole matter, Kitty, is that I am ashamed of you and I 
shall certainly feel it my duty to inform mamma at the very 
first opportunity of your disobedient conduct. 

Enter Kitty, R., followed by Margaret. 

Kitty. And what good do you think that will do you? 
If I should tell — why, Harry! {Crosses to him, R. C.) 

Margaret. Reginald! {Crosses to him, L. C.) What 
does this mean? 

Reginald {sullenly). Nothing. 

Kitty. Harry, speak! 

Harry {sulkily). I have nothing at a}l to say. 

Margaret. Kitty, who is that man? 

Kitty. Margaret, who is that man? 

Margaret. He is of age. Ask him. 

Kitty. Good plan. Suppose you try it. 

Margaret {to Harry). Sir, I think an explanation is in 
order. 



THE WINNING WIDOW. 37 

Kitty (to Reginald). Sir, I also think an explanation is 
in order. 

Enter Elizabeth, C, holds up hands in horror. 

Elizabeth. What does this mean? (Consternation. 
Girls hang heads. Men start toward her eagerly.) 

Reginald and Harry (together). Mrs. Snowden! (She 
holds out hand to each.) 

Margaret and Kitty (together, in horror.) Mamma! 

Elizabeth. Girls, you had better go to your rooms. I 
must come to an understanding with these two gentlemen. 

Margaret. But, mamma, I — 

Kitty. And, mamma, you — 

Elizabeth. Did you hear what I said, girls? 

Kitty. Yes, mamma, but — 

Harry (to Reginald). Sir, I would advise you, also, to 
leave the house. I can make every necessary explanation 
to my friend, Mrs. Snowden. 

Reginald. Young fellow, it is you who should consider 
yourself in the light of an intruder. I am — 

Harry (advancing on him, angrily). Do you wish me 

to — ■ 

Enter Bess, C. Steps between them. 

Bess. Oh, Harry, don't! (All stare at her.) 

Elizabeth (astonished). "Harry !" (Goes to Bess and 
lays hand on shoulder). Did I hear you call this young 
gentleman "Harry?" 

Bess. I — I — I am afraid so, ma'am. 

Elizabeth. What does it mean? 

Bess (hesitating) . He is my cousin. 

All. Cousin ! 

Harry (stepping forward). Yes, Mrs. Snowden — young 
ladies — and — and — (glaring at Reginald) — intruding male 
person! I am her cousin. I came here to — to — to — (Kitty 
coughs warningly) — to tune this piano, and I was surprised 
to be admitted into the house by the girl I have been search- 
ing for for months. (Bess tries to escape. He holds her. 
She hangs head.) When her father, John Clifford Warner, 
died — 



38 THE WINNING WIDOW. 

• 
Elizabeth (aghast). John Clifford Warner! 

Harry. Yes, Mrs. Snowden, that was his name. It was 
found that he had defrauded those whose funds he had 
been handling of considerable wealth. Not altogether of 
intention, you understand, but through injudicious invest- 
ment and too rash methods of speculation. One widow, es- 
pecially, became entitled to a large fortune out of which he 
had kept her husband for several years. In settling this 
estate, my little cousin was left penniless, and being of a 
quite too independent nature, set out to make her own way 
in the world. So completely did she disappear from our 
sight that we have searched for her in vain for many 
months. This morning I found her, but she forbade my 
making her identity known to you, and in no* uncertain 
terms prohibited my revealing her whereabouts and what- 
abouts to a family which is anxious to provide for her in 
every possible way. (Bess again attempts to escape, but 
Elizabeth catches her.) 

Elizabeth. I, too, have something to say to you before 
you go. I, too, have been searching for you for many months, 
never dreaming you were in my own home all the time. John 
Clifford Warner was my husband's cousin, and I was the 
widow to whom the fortune by legal right reverted. But I 
have in my possession papers that were never recorded and 
letters — private, of course, but unmistakable in tenor — en- 
titling this lost daughter of Mr. Warner's to a full half of 
all the property in my keeping; and I hail with joy this 
opportunity of making full and free restitution. I am glad, 
indeed, that our long-sought-for little cousin has come to 
light in our own household. (Kisses Bess on brow.) Girls, 
your cousin. (Leads her to Margaret, who likewise kisses 
her, then to Kitty, who embraces tier enthusiastically.) 

Kitty. You darling thing! (Bess again attempts to es- 
cape. Harry detains her.) % 

Harry. Not yet, Bess. I have something more to say. 
Before your father died, he had promised you to me for 
my wife. When you ran away you nearly broke my heart. 
I lost a cousin and a wife at once. Now I shall claim every 



THE WINNING WIDOW. 39 

one of my rights. I have found my cousin. Have I not 
also found my wife? 

Bess {bashfully). If— if — 

Harry. If what? 

Bess {mischievously) . If Miss Kitty doesn't object. 

Harry {surprised). Miss Kitty? But why? (Harry 
looks from one to the other. Kitty looks at him a moment 
in surprise, then goes to Elizabeth and rests her head on 
her shoulder. Elizabeth soothes her.) 

Bess. And if — if — 

Harry. Spring it! 

Bess. And if you're sure it's still just me you want. 
{Looks at Kitty with puzzled air.) 

Harry. Oh, I'm perfectly sure of that. {Looks inno- 
cently around group.) Why, did you ever know me to 
even look at anybody else? 

Bess {uncertainly). Maybe not; maybe not. (Reginald 
snorts.) 

Harry. Humph! Should say not! 

Reginald {stepping forward after having been covertly 
admiring Elizabeth throughout previous conversation, fol- 
lowing her every move and listening eagerly to every word) . 
This seems to be — er — a nice little family arrangement, but 
before we break up this — er — delightful little gathering, I 
would like to put in a little word for myself. May I? 
(Margaret drops head, embarrassed.) 

Elizabeth. I — I — guess so. (Kitty goes and stands 
by Margaret. Harry and Bess talk together in whispers.) 

Reginald. I am a comparative stranger to you all, but I 
am one of the Philadelphia Wrights, you know, and as 
such, Mrs. Snowden, I feel that my family pedigree is quite 
beyond all question. 

Elizabeth {bowing). It is, indeed. 

Margaret {smiling hopefully). Of course. 

Reginald. Personally, as you already know, I am a poet 
— a man of lofty inspiration and the highest ideals. 

Elizabeth {bowing). I believe it. 

Margaret {more emphatically still). Certainly. 



40 THE WINNING WIDOW. 

Reginald. As for my personal appearance {primping 
vainly) I don't want to appear unduly self -appreciative, but 
— I guess my manly beauty will speak for itself. 

Harry. Ahem ! 

Elizabeth. Unapproachable. 

Margaret. Perfectly charming. 

Kitty. Quite too perfectly lovely. 

Bess. Humph! (Clasps Harry's arm, looking up at him 
appreciatively.) 

Reginald (bowing thanks to Elizabeth). Deeply grate- 
ful, I assure you. I understand that you have a serious 
dislike for men, Mrs. Snowden ; but it shall be my greatest 
delight, if you will permit me, to wipe from your mind 
every previous unfavorable impression. 

Elizabeth (bowing). That is commendable in you. 

Margaret {nodding approvingly). Very. 

Reginald (bowing to girls). I will also try to overcome 
the prejudices of both your charming daughters. 

Elizabeth. How kind. 

Kitty. So nice of him. 

Margaret (dubiously). Y-e-s. But why both? 

Reginald. All that I ask is that you will no longer re- 
member that I am so nearly a stranger, but that you will 
permit me to lay my heart, my hand, my honored name, and 
all my worldly goods at your fair feet. (Kneels on one 
knee at Elizabeth's feet.) 

Kitty (astonished). What? 

Margaret (screaming in dismay). Mamma's? 

Elizabeth. I don't know what to say. 

Reginald (rising, grasping her hand). Surely, you won't 
have the heart to say "No!" 

Elizabeth. I — I — I — don't want to. But my girls — 
(looks at them hesitatingly) . 

Reginald (with hand on heart). You are younger and 
fairer than either. 

Elizabeth (coyly). Can you mean it? 

Reginald. I do ! I swear ! 

Kitty (horrified). Swear? 



THE WINNING WIDOW. 41 

Margaret (with hands over ears, protestingly). O don't! 

Reginald (tarns to girls). Girls, won't you give your 
mother to me? I'll be a good father to you. 

Margaret and Kitty (together, as if by rote.) Mamma 
doesn't like men. 

Reginald. And I don't want her to, either. Just the 
one man — me! 

Kitty. Will you let me have men friends? 

Margaret (in feigned horror). Why, Kitty Snowden! 

Reginald. Certainly. 

Elizabeth (hesitatingly). If they won't come too early, 
nor stay too late, smoke, chew, drink or swear. 

Kitty. No sports need apply. 

Margaret (humbly). And may I, too? 

Kitty (mischievously). Why, Margaret Snowden! 

Reginald. As many as you like. 

Elizabeth (hastily). On the same conditions, of course. 

Margaret. Only angels eligible. 

Kitty. Exactly. 

Margaret (holding out both hands to Reginald). Then 
take her, my friend, and be as happy as you can. 

Kitty (raising hands as in benediction). And God bless 
you, my parents. 

Elizabeth (shocked). Girls! Girls! 

Margaret (shaking head gravely). It never could hap- 
pen again. 

Kitty. We'll be good. We'll be good. 

Harry (to Bess). As usual, the winning suit was in the 
Widow's hand. 

Reginald (giving arm to Elizabeth). Come, my dear. 

Harry (giving arm to Bess). And come, my dear. 
(Both couples march out R.) 

Margaret (watching them). So that is the end of it all! 

Kitty (giggling). More like a beginning, Margaret, 
don't you think? Orange blossoms, Lohengrin, oodles of sil- 
ver spoons, rice, old shoes, you know, and all that sort of 
thing. 



42 THE WINNING WIDOW. 

Margaret {thoughtfully). I always did think Reginald 
was too poky and stiff and conceited. 

Kitty. And I always did think Harry was altogether 
too fresh. 

Margaret. Then well "live happy ever after/' eh? 

Kitty {giving arm to Margaret with low bow, imitating 
the men). So — come, my dear. (Margaret accepts with 
low bow and they start R. in time for — ) 

Curtain. 



The Deacon Entangled 

By HARRY OSBORNE. 

Price, 25 Cents 
Comedy in 3 acts; 6 males, 4 females. Time, 2 hours. Scene: 
1 interior. Characters: Deacon Penrose, a member in good stand- 
ing. Calvin, his nephew. Rev. Sopher, a supporter of foreign mis- 
sions Harry Baxter, a sporting writer. Rafferty, a policeman. 
A Plain Clothes Man. Mrs. Penrose. Ruth, her daughter. 
Georgie, Rev. Sopher's daughter. Katy, a maid. 

SYNOPSIS. 

Act I. — In which the Deacon finds himself in a tight corner. 
Dr. Sopher, who can coax money out of a wooden Indian. A thou- 
sand dollars for the new pipe organ. Cal arrives. A clean-up- 
clouter instead of a ministerial prospect. "Did I forget my necktie 
and button my collar in the . back?" The Deacon spends a night 
out. "We won't go home until morning." 

Act II. — The raid on the gambling joint. "Why didn't you 
jump when I told you." On bail. "A thousand dollars to the Doc 
or you lose your job as Deacon; a thousand to the judge or six 
months." A sporting chance. Ready for the game. A donation 
to Foreign Missions and a double barreled courtship. The elope- 
ment. The arrest. "Come on Cal, I'll see you through." 

Act III. — The big game. Tied in the Tenth. Cal goes to the 
box. A Pinch Hitter. "Over the scoreboard." On the Deacon's 
trail — the Horse pistol — pay the fine or go to jail. A hair line 
finish. "Hold on, Copper." "Here's your thousand and here's 
your girl. Look happy and have your picture taken." A new 
son-in-law. "Bother Boarding School." The Deacon smiles. 

A Trial of Hearts 

By LINDSEY BARBEE. 

Price, 25 Cents 

College comedy in 4 acts; 6 males, 18 females. Time, 2% hours. 
Scenes: 3 interiors, 1 exterior. Characters: Dudley Van Antwerp, 
-a wealthy college man. Philip, his best friend. Roger, Teddy, 
Jack and Jerry, fraternity men. Mrs. Van Antwerp, of great im- 
portance. Honor, Dudley's wife. Fourteen lively sorority girls. A 
chaperone and a maid. 

SYNOPSIS. 

Act I. — Gretchen and Jerry play Romeo and Juliet. Ted pleads 
the cause of Kappa Psi. Jack argues for Delta Chi. Dudley intro- 
duces Honor to his mother. Virginia learns of Dudley's marriage. 
"I want to go home — oh, I want to go home!" 

Act II.— The football enthusiasts bring news of Barbara. 
Gretchen and Jerry studv Latin and argue fraternity. Honor finds 
it all a little strange. Dudley tells Virginia his love story. "Oh, 
Dudley, you hurt me!" "There's nothing left for me but to go away!" 

Act III.— "I wonder if people ever get too busy to care!" 
Mrs. Van Antwerp opens fire and Honor stands her ground. "I 
mean to stay!" "I wish I had no heart— it aches so!" "Dear 
little girl, it is good-bye." Honor hears Dudley declare his love 
for Virginia. "Oh, Dad -Dad— your little girl is coming home!" 

Act IV.— Gretchen and Jerry "grow up." The Seniors toast 
the past, the present and the future. Mrs. Van Antwerp reproaches 
herself. "Here comes the bride." The Kappa Psis and the Delta 
Chi holds reunions. "Honor, is it really you?" "If you want me, 
I am here. 1 ' p 

T. S. DENISON & COMPANY, Publishers 

154 W. Randolph Street, CHICAGO 



The Thread of Destiny 

By L1NDSEY BARBEE. 
Price, 25 Cents 

Comedy-drama of the Civil War in 3 acts; 9 males, 16 females. 
Time, 2V 2 hours. Scenes: 1 interior, 2 exteriors. Characters: 
Peyton Bailey, of the U. S. army. Beverly Montgomery, a con- 
federate scout. Colonel Montgomery, a gentleman of the old school. 
Tom Randolph, a Southern gallant. John Morton, of the North. 
Ralph, who did not go to war. George and Uncle Billy, slaves. 
A Union Scout. Virginia, the toast of the country. Betty, the 
"Little Colonel." Edith, a northern cousin. Louise, a spy.. Eight 
charming southern girls. Mrs. Montgomery. Miss Melissy, of in- 
quisitive nature. Fanny and Mammy, slaves. 

SYNOPSIS. 

Act I. — Betty breaks a looking glass. Edith calms her fears 
and tells her "the signs of the times." "Virginia has seceded." 
Beverly enlists. "A Virginia woman does not even recognize an 
acquaintance among the enemies of Virginia." 

Act II. — "I don' wan' no tarnished silber linin' to my cloud." 
"There are some things more precious than money, than jewels." 
"Death cannot conquer love — nor eternity." "Some day there will 
be no North, no South, but the Union." The Union scout falls a 
prey to Edith's fascinations and her cleverness wins the coveted 
dispatch. Virginia opens the door — to Peyton. Beverly is dis- 
covered. Friendship proves stronger than duty. 

Act III. — Three years work a great change. Peyton pleads in 
vain. George and Fanny "take de road to de Ian' of happiness." 
"In our little circle the stars and bars are floating high." Virginia 
gives Peyton another rose and together they trace against the 
background of blue and gray "the golden thread of destiny." 



Shadows 



By MARY MONCURE PARKER. 

Price, 15 Cents 

Play of the South today and a dream of the past in 1 act; 
an interior scene; 3 males, 4 females. Time, 35 minutes. Charac- 
ters: Prologue and the Awakening: Robert Ashton, Virginia's 
sweetheart. Aunt Geranium, an old colored mammy. Virginia Lee, 
a southern maid. The Dream: Gordon Sanford, a soldier in love 
with Alice. Harold Hale, the successful rival. Mrs. Horace 
Fairfax, a stern mother of long ago. Alice Fairfax, her dutiful 
daughter. STORY OF THE PLAY. 

Virginia Lee's mother insists upon her marriage with a rich 
suitor, who has agreed to restore their impoverished estate. Vir- 
ginia has a sweetheart of her childhood days and hesitates in 
making a choice, but finally decides upon wealth instead of love. 
An old colored mammy, who has spent her life in the Lee house- 
hold, understands the situation and tells Virginia of a similar 
episode in the life of Virginia's grandmother. Virginia in ponder- 
ing over the incident and grieving over her own troubles, falls 
asleep. She dreams of the story just told and the dream folks 
appear and play their parts. Virginia awakens, the shadows flee 
and she comes to her senses and her lover. 

The old colored mammy says: "Dis heah ole wtfrl's jes' full 
of shadders. Fokes comes an' dey goes, ripens and drops like the 
fruit on de tree. Ole Mars is gone, old Mistis gone. De substance 
melts and fades away. Ain't nothing left but shadders." 

T. S. DENISON & COMPANY, Publishers 

154 W. Randolph Street, CHICAGO 



DENISON'S ACTING PLAYS 

Price 15 Cents Each, Postpaid, Unless Different Price Is Given 



m. r. 
Winning Widow, 2 acts, \y 2 hrs. 

(25c) 2 4 

Women Who Did, 1 hr...(25c) 17 
Yankee Detective, 3 acts, 2 hrs. 8 3 

FARCES, COMEDIETAS, Etc 

All on a Summer's Day, 40 min. 4 6 

April Fools, 30 min 3 

Assessor, The, 10 min 3 2 

Baby Show at Pineville, 20 min. 19 

Billy's Chorus Girl, 25 min... 2 3 

Billy's Mishap, 20 min 2 3 

Borrowed Luncheon, 20 min.. 5 

Borrowing Trouble, 20 min.... 3 5 
Case Against Casey, 40 min... 23 

Country Justice, 15 min 8 

Cow that Kicked Chicago, 20 m. 3 2 

Divided Attentions, 35 min 1 4 

Dude in a Cyclone, 20 min 4 2 

Family Strike, 20 min 3 3 

First-Class Hotel, 20 min.... 4 

For Love and Honor, 20 min.. 2 1 

Fudge and a Burglar, 15 min.. 5 

Fun in Photo Gallery, 30 min.. 6 10 
Great Medical Dispensary, 30 m. 6 
Great Pumpkin Case, 30 min.. 12 

Hans Von Smash, 30 min.... 4 3 

I'm Not Mesilf at All, 25 min. 3 2 
Initiating a Granger, 25 min.. 8 

Irish Linen Peddler, 40 min... 3 3 

Is the Editor In? 20 min... 4 2 

Kansas Immigrants, 20 min... 5 1 

Men Not Wanted, .30 min.... 8 

Mike Donovan's Courtship, 15 m. 1 3 

Mother Goose's Goslings, 30 m. 7 9 

Mrs. Jenkins' Brilliant Idea, 35m. 8 

Mrs. Stubbins' Book Agent, 30 m. 3 2 

My Wife's Relations, 1 hr. . . . 4 6 

Not a Man in the House, 40 m. 5 

Pair of Lunatics, 20 min 1 1 

Patsy O'Wang, 35 min 4 3 

Pat, the Apothecary, 35 min.. 6 2 

Persecuted Dutchman, 30 min. 6 3 

Regular Fix, 35 min 6 4 

Second Childhood, 15 min 2 2 

Shadows, 35 min 2 2 

Sing a Song of Seniors, 30 min. 7 

Taking Father's Place, 30 min. 5 3 

Taming a Tiger, 30 min 3 

That Rascal Pat, 30 min 3 2 

Those Red Envelopes, 25 min. 4 4 
Too Much of a Good Thing, 45 

min 3 6 

Turn Him Out, 35 min .. 3 2 

Two Aunts and a Photo, 20 m. 4 
Two Gentlemen in a Fix, 15 m. 2 

Two Ghosts in White, 20 min . . 8 

Two of a Kind, 40 min 2 3 

Uncle Dick's Mistake, 20 min ..32 

Wanted a Correspondent, 45 m. 4 4 

Wanted a Hero, 20 min 1 1 



M. F. 

Wide Enough for Two, 45 min. 5 2 

Wrong Baby, 25 min 8 

Yankee Peddler, 1 hr 7 3 

VAUDEVILLE SKETCHES, MON- 
OLOGUES, ETHIOPIAN PLAYS. 

Ax'in' Her Father, 25 min 2 3 

Booster Club of Blackville, 25 m.10 
Breakfast Food for Two, 20 m. 1 1 

Cold Finish, 15 min 2 1 

Colored Honeymoon, 25 min... 2 2 
Coon Creek Courtship, 15 min. 1 1 
Coming Champion, 20 min.... 2 
Coontown Thirteen Club, 25 m.14 

Counterfeit Bills, 20 min 1 1 

Darktown Fire Brigade, 25 min. 10 
Doings of a Dude, 20 min.... 2 1 

Dutch Cocktail, 20 min 2 

For Reform, 20 min 4 

Fresh Timothy Hay, 20 min ..21 
Glickman, the Glazier, 25 min. 1 1 
Good Mornin' Judge, 35 min.. 9 2 

Her Hero, 20 min 1 1 

Hey, Rube! 15 min 1 

Home Run, 15 min 1 1 

Jumbo Jum, 30 min 4 3 

Little Red School House, 20 m. 4 

Love and Lather, 35 min 3 2 

Marriage and After, 10 min.. 1 

Memphis Mose, 25 min 5 1 

Mischievous Nigger, 25 min.. 4 2 

Mistaken Miss, 20 min 1 

Mr. and Mrs. Fido, 20 min 1 1 

Oh, Doctor! 30 min 6 2 

One Sweetheart for Two, 20 m. 2 
Oshkosh Next Week, 20 min . . 4 

Oyster Stew, 10 min 2 

Pete Yansen's Gurl's Moder, 10m. 1 

Pickles for Two, 15 min 2 

Pooh Bah of Peacetown, 35 min. 2 2 
Prof. Black's Funnygraph, 15 m. 6 

Sham Doctor, 10 min 4 2 

Si and I, 15 min 1 

Special Sale, 15 min 2 

Stage Struck Darky, 10 min.. 2 1 
Sunny Son of Italy, 15 min.. 1 

Time Table, 20 min 1 1 

Tramp and the Actress, 20 min. 1 1 
Troubled by Ghosts, 10 min... 4 
Troubles of Rozinski, 15 min.. 1 
Two Jay Detectives, 15 min.. 3 

Umbrella Mender, 15 min 2 

Uncle Jeff, 25 min S 2 

What Happened to Hannah, 15m. 1 1 



A great number of 
Standard and Amateur Plays 
not found here are listed in 

Denlson's Catalogue 



T. S. DENISON & COMPANY, Publishers, 154 W. Randolph St. , Chicago 



POPULAR ENTERTAir 

Price, Illustrated Paper Cove 



■SEL5 C0N G«ESS 




IN this Series 
are found 
books touching 
every feature 
in the enter- 
tainment field. 
Finely made, 
good p a p e r, 
clear print and 
each book has 
an attrac t i v e 
individual cov- 
er design. 
A Partial List 

DIALOGUES 

All Sorts of Dialogues. 

Selected, fine for older pupils. 
Catchy Comic Dialogues. 

Very clever; for young people. 
Children's Comic Dialogues. 

From six to eleven years of age. 
Country School Dialogues. 

Brand new, original- 
Dialogues for District Schools. 

For country schools. 
Dialogues from Dickens. 

Thirteen selections. 
The Friday Afternoon Dialogues. 

Over 50,000 copies sold. 
From Tots to Teens. 

Dialogues and recitations. 
Humorous Homespun Pialogues. 

For older ones. 
Little People's Plays. 

From 7 to 13 years of age. 
Lively Dialogues. 

For all ages; mostly humorous. 
Merry Little Dialogues. 

Thirty-eight original selections. 
When the Lessons are Over. 

Dialogues, drills, plays. 
Wide Awake Dialogues. 

Original successful. 

SPEAKERS, MONOLOGUES 

Choice Pieces for Little People. 

A child's speaker. 
The Comic Entertainer. 

Recitations, monologues, dialogues. 
Dialect Readings. 

Irish, Dutch, Negro, Scotch, etc. 
The Favorite Speaker. 

Choice prose and poetry. 
The Frjday Afternoon Speaker. 

For pupils of all ages. 
Humorous Monologues. 

Particularly for ladies. 
Monologues for Young. Folks. 

Clever, humorous, original. 



Mon 




Scrap -^^18 348 647 01 

Choice collections, pamT..' « 



morous, descriptive, prose, 
poetry. 15 Nos., per No. 25c 

DRILLS 

The Best Drill Book. 

Very popular drills and marches. 
The Favorite Book of Drills. 

Drills that sparkle with originality. 
Little Plays With Drills. 

For children from 6 to 11 years. 
The Surprise Drill Book. 

Fresh, novel, drills and marches. 

SPECIALTIES 

The Boys' Entertainer. 

Monologues, dialogues, drills. 
Children's Party Book. 

Invitations, decorations, games. 
The Days We Celebrate. 

Entertainments for all the holidays. 
Good Things for Christmas. 

Recitations, dialogues, drills. 
Good Things for Sunday Schools. 

Dialogues, exercises, recitations. 
Good Things for Thanksgiving. 

A gem of a book. * 

Good Things for Washington. 

and Lincoln Birthdays. 
Little Folks' Budget. 

Easy pieces to speak, songs. 
One Hundred Entertainments. 

New parlor diversions, socials. 
Patriotic Celebrations. 

Great variety of material. 
Pictured Readings and Tableaux. 

Entirely original features. 
Pranks and Pastimes. 

Parlor games for children. 
Private Theatricals. 

How to put on plays. 
Shadow Pictures, Pantomimes, 

Charades, and how to prepare. 
Tableaux and Scenic Readings. 

New and novel; for all ages. 
Twinkling Fingers and Sway- 
ing Figures. For little tots. 
Yuletide Entertainments. 

A choice Christmas collection. 

MINSTRELS, JOKES 

Black American Joker. 

Minstrels* and end men's gags. 
A Bundle of Burnt Cork Comedy. 

Monologues, stump speeches, etc. 
Laughland, via the Ha-Ha Route. 

A merry trip for fun tourists. 
Negro Minstrels. 

All about the business. 
The New Jolly Jester.^ 

Funny stories, jokes, gags, etc. 

Large Illustrated Catalogue Free 



T.S.DENISON & COMPANY, Publishers ,154 W. Randolph St, .Chicago 



